


Plural of Apocalypse

by elyssblair



Category: Blade (Movie Series)
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-26 01:00:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3831310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elyssblair/pseuds/elyssblair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few years after Daystar, the Nightstalkers are hunting a new threat, Drake isn't as dead as they'd believed and Hannibal is working <i>with</i> a new breed of vampire. Then, his day really gets weird.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plural of Apocalypse

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to DeJester for the lovely [art](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3832162/chapters/8548090)!
> 
> written for Small Fandoms Bang

_Everybody knows the war never ends. After Daystar did its thing and the vampires went extinct, I was hoping to take a vacation._

_But when you exterminate an apex predator from the food chain, you discover all kinds of nasty vermin those predators kept in check._

_Shadow Demons. More mist than flesh, the vampires found the Spooks a tasty treat. They'd remained huddled and hiding in the dark for millennia._

_Until we set them free._

A group of Spooks split off, fleeing down a side tunnel instead of following the herd into the ambush the Nightstalkers had set up.

"Goddamn it," Hannibal muttered, breaking off to chase the deserters and hoping he had enough UV flashes. "I hate the ones that actually have a sense of self-preservation."

Most Spooks seemed to have little thought process beyond _feed on humans_ and _avoid bright lights_. A few, however, had a few brain cells to rub together.

"King," Abby shouted behind, sounding as exasperated as always. "Where the fuck are you going?"

"Be right back, dear," he called over his shoulder. "Go ahead and start the party without me, Whistler. I'll be back in a few."

"Goddamn it, King."

Her voice faded under the hum of the generator roaring to life and the thundering sound of battled behind him. Hannibal touched the hilt of his sword like a talisman. Technically, the sword wasn't his. It had been the sword Drake used when he fought Blade. It had seemed a waste to leave it behind for the FBI.

Spooks had the same allergy to silver and aversion to UV light as the vampires. Except, instead of bursting into flames, Shadow Demons became solid when exposed to light. Which was also the only time you could kill them. They had a poltergeist-like skill to use their bodies as a battering force, even in shadow form and, apparently, their fangs were always solid. Even in the dark. And, to add the bitter cherry on top of the fun sundae of mindless, bloodsucking shadows, they had some freaky shadow magic that destroyed small lights within seconds of them being turned on. It took massive amounts of industrial sized lights to manage a fair fight. Which is exactly what they had set up in the blocked tunnel Hannibal was currently running away from.

A darkness slammed into him, tossing him hard into the stone wall of the tunnel. Something cold and sharp lid over the skin of his throat. Bile rose in his throat and tamped down on the automatic panic before he yanked himself away and fumbled for the row of flashlights hooked to his belt.

He flicked one on and tossed it on the floor with one hand, unsheathing his sword and slicing through the suddenly corporeal Spook with the other. He scrambled back while the Spook evaporated in a swirl of milky-gray smoke.

In the split second before the flashlight popped loudly and went dark, Hannibal realized a dozen of the demons filled the tunnel around him and he tightened his grip on his sword.

"Son of a—"

Another not-body slammed into him, knocking the breath out of him and the flashlight he'd be reaching for fell, unlit, from his fingers.

"Come on, you bastards, fight fair."

He ducked his head against the next hit, barely avoiding fangs and spinning away. The shadow bodies were relentless, though. They battered him over and over, not giving him a second to breathe let alone fight back. He reeled from impact to impact, trying desperately to get a light on. To give himself a fighting chance. Then a massive shadow, hammered him followed by a second and his knees buckled.

Hannibal fell under the impact, breath freezing while he desperately fought to protect his throat. Panicked, the hysterical thought crossed his mind that at least he didn't have to worry about being turned. A Spook's bite could only kill you.

A flash, brighter and bigger than any he carried, lit up the room, temporarily blinding him. As he blinked away the worst of the sparks. Black-clad, ninja-like figures gracefully tore into the demons, but two still pressed in on him, pin his sword arm and leaving him helpless, as the open maw and black fangs descended toward him. He was almost grateful when the light popped and plunged the tunnel back into darkness. He'd rather not see his end.

But another light flashed on and fangs that never touched him. Both Spooks stopped abruptly, then turned to smoke. Once again, the lights blanked out only for another to flare to life. A hand appeared in front of him, tugging him to his feet.

"Dude, thanks for the rescue. Spook food wasn't something I wanted to add to my resume…"

His voice faded out as his eyes adjusted to the pulsing lights. His rescuer wasn't anyone he'd expected. In fact, his rescuer was supposed to be dead.

"Drake," he muttered. "Should've known death wouldn't take."

He straightened his shoulders, trying to look casual while glancing around for an escape route.

But there was nowhere to run. In the strobing light, he could see he was surrounded not by ninjas but by vampires. Who fed relentlessly on the Spooks around him. Vampires, who were supposed to be as extinct as the dodo, goddamn it.

He twisted back to glare at Drake, who just shrugged.

"Frying pan, fire. Whatever."

Hannibal forced smile. He cracked his neck, raised his sword and promised himself he was going out on his feet.

"Let's get this over with."

Drake raised his empty hands, smirk pulling at his lips while he tried to look harmless. Then his eyes darted to Hannibal's left, expression shifting into a faint frown. No one ever actually fell for that old chestnut and Hannibal wasn't going to go out as a cartoon cliche

.

He snarled, sword lifting and body priming for a fight. Until, in another flash, he saw the shadow of a fist from the peripheral of his left eye.

"Motherfuck—" His head rocked, cutting him off mid-curse while his world went black.

His head throbbed and his body ached when Hannibal swam back to consciousness and well-honed instincts told him he wasn't in safe territory with screaming urgency. He kept his eyes closed and breathing even while he tried to gather as much information as possible.

The bed he was on was surprisingly comfortable and the room's temperature was pleasant even though his shirt seemed to be missing. Almost cozy. There were no restraints, but his sword belt was gone, as were his boots and the comforting weight of the knife he carried in the right one. There was someone else in the room with him, someone who wasn't even trying to hide their presence.

"You can keep pretending to sleep if you want, but I heard your heartbeat change when you woke."

A familiar voice spoke right next to him. A familiar voice that made his body freeze and his lungs stop for a second.

Drake.

Sitting right next to the bed. Way too close comfort.

Timbuktu was way too close.

Hannibal considered jumping him, but Blade had only been able to fight him to a draw. With the help of Abigail and Daystar. Shoeless, shirtless and weaponless, Hannibal didn't stand a chance.

Eyes popping open, he glared at the vampire and demanded, "What happened to my shirt?"

Drake's eyebrow slid up and he tilted his head in a move that reminded Hannibal of a confused dog.

"That is the first thing you want to know?"

Point. Hannibal wasn't going to admit it to the bloodsucker, though. "It was my Perry the Platypus t-shirt. It had sentimental value."

"Sorry. The fight left it pretty ripped up. We removed what was left of it to treat the cuts and contusions. I'll see if Roslyn can get it replaced for you."

Hannibal stared at the amused smirk, not quite sure how to respond to that. His interaction with vampires didn't usually involve first aid or fashion discussions.

Usually, there was a lot more torture and begging and screaming.

Feeling a little too vulnerable, Hannibal pressed his hand onto the bed and tried to shift into a sitting position.

At least, that was the plan. The rush of pain through his torso left him gasping and flopping back on the bed.

"Careful," Drake murmured and reached out, hand hovering over Hannibal's shoulder but not touching. "I don't believe your rib is broken, but it is definitely bruised."

Drake's fingers curled into his palm and he drew his hand back to himself.

"Yeah," Hannibal groaned and pressed his hand against his throbbing side. "Got that."

He blinked at the ceiling and thought, what the hell?

"Little help?" Hannibal asked, waving vaguely to encompass his need to no continue lying flat and helpless.

The vampire's hands were strong and warm and surprisingly gentle. Hannibal scooted quickly away from him once he was sitting mostly upright on the bed, with his feet firmly on the floor. Barefoot, but hey, baby steps until he could escape or Abigail could track him down.

And apparently his thoughts were all over his face because Drake frowned and leaned back in his chair.

"I'm afraid if you're waiting for rescue, it's not going to be anytime soon. My friends have done something to make sure you can't be tracked. I'm afraid I still don't quite understand all of the technology of this century."

"I'll buy you an iPod," Hannibal muttered and looked around now that he had a better view of the room. No windows. One door. Very obvious bio-metric lock. No air ducts or convenient skylight.

Well, no current escape opportunities. Intel gathering was still an option.

"Friends? Don't you mean spawn?"

"No. None of my… descendants survived your Daystar."

"Ahh, too bad. Did we ruin all your fun plans for world domination?" Hannibal let his voice flattened out into an angry monotone. "Sorry."

Drake rolled his eyes and smirked, leaning back in his chair. "It has been over three years since the last of my descendants succumbed to the virus. And yet, here I am, not yet the world dictator you fear. I survived Daystar. Don't you think, in that time, I could have created a brand new army of offspring? Ones stronger and purer than the pathetic degenerates you and your friends destroyed.

Hannibal's body went cold and tight, his stomach roiling as he thought about the half-dozen fast, strong, ninja-like vamps who'd torn through the Spooks his team could barely even track.

"How many?" he asked, voice a hoarse, harsh whisper. "How many have you turned?"

"None."

"None? But I saw…"

What had he seen? The vamps had stood in the UV strobes, but then light had never bothered Blade or Drake.

"I find this new world invigorating. Humans in this century are fascinating. What they… what you have managed to make of yourselves in a few short centuries is incredible. While my children stagnated. Regressed into a feral parody. We were always predators but never supposed to become mere animals. They're all gone and the world is better for it. My companions aren't the vampires you knew."

Drake dropped into silence, his face pinched into something sad and resolved.

"So, what's that mean for me? You know if I get the chance, I'm going to get word to Abby or Blade." Hannibal took a deep breath, hand braced against his ribs while he forced himself to his feet. He would never again face his fate on his knees. Metaphorically.

"Are you going to kill me?"

Drake stood in a slow, deliberate stretch of muscle, his eyes locked on Hannibal's. Holding his breath and hoping he hadn't given the bastard any ideas, panic rolled through Hannibal. His mouth started moving, ignoring the screams of warning from his brain's rudimentary sense of self-preservation.

"Just get it over, motherfucker. Don't fucking play with your food. Kill me, already and get it over with me. Just kill me."

Hannibal jerked his chin up and glared defiantly.

Drake's expression was inscrutable while he held Hannibal's hard stare for several heartbeats before drifting down to the scar on his chest. His hand lifted, gently touching the puckered skin.

"I've tried," he whispered, voice actually sounding somewhat regretful before he moved his hand and smirked up at Hannibal. "Didn't seem to take."

Hannibal blinked twice before letting his own lips twist into a dark smile and he retorted, "Pot meet kettle."

And Drake laughed.

An honest-to-god, full belly laugh that made Hannibal blink and try to figure out what the fuck was going on. Had they drugged him? Was this some kind of weird interrogation technique meant to soften him up with confusion before the questions started?

Then a cold, sobering thought sliced through him, pinching the air in his lungs and making his heart beat double time.

"I'll fight you before letting you turn me again. I'd rather be tortured. I'd rather die. I'll rip out my own heart before I let you make me a bloodsucker."

Drake sighed and stepped away, holding his hands up, like that would make Hannibal forget how dangerous and deadly he was.

"No one is going to turn you. No one is going to kill you. I'm going to talk to you and then I'm going to let you go."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

Hannibal pinched his lips and crossed his arms, wincing at the painful pull of his ribs but refusing to shift his stance. "You really think I'll lead you right to the Nightstalkers hideout so you can wipe out all of us at once?"

"Abandoned cannery by the docks." Drake said matter-of-factly, then settled back into his chair and tilted his head back to stare at Hannibal. "Do you want me to tell you what we know about the security measures, most of which won't work on us, by the way. Or do you want to sit down and stop hurting yourself for no reason?"

Hannibal's mouth opened. Then closed. He inhaled softly, uncrossed his arms and eased gingerly onto the bed.

"Us?" he asked, latching onto something less unsettling than the fact that his greatest enemy knew where HQ was located. The last time Drake had wandered through one of their hideouts, he'd lost everyone but Abby and Zoe. He couldn't even contemplate what would happen this time.

"Us, who?" he asked. "You never did explain who your friends were, if they're not your spawn. Those were definitely vamps sucking blood—wait do Spooks have blood?"

"They have an… essence. It is delectable and far more satiating to us than human blood. It's why you'd never been aware of them until after Daystar. My former descendants hunted them nearly to extinction."

Hannibal narrowed his eyes. "You said the ninja-vamps weren't your descendants."

"They're not. Daystar destroyed everyone who shared my blood." Drake frowned, eyes lowered for a moment. He didn't look particularly depressed by the thought. Just… resigned. "The one's you saw refer to themselves as Upyri and they are not mine."

"Uh, they had fangs. And speed and strength. They can call themselves vampires, Upyri or Twilight Sparkle. I know what I saw. You were the first. Whatever they were, they're definitely yours."

"I was the first," Drake said, raising his eyes to meet Hannibal's with unflinching openness. "What the legends seem to have forgotten is that I wasn't the only one _blessed_ by the Blood God."

Hannibal's heart kicked into a painful, racing rhythm.

 _"_ How many?" His voice caught on the edge of panic. "How many more of you are there? Damn it. How many of _their_ spawn are out there?"

Drake sighed. "Perhaps I should start at the beginning."

Catching himself and refusing to show any more fear, Hannibal smirked. "Sure. I love a good story time. Maybe, when you're done, you can help me brush my teeth and tuck me in."

"I still don't understand how Blade never nailed your mouth shut out of sheer self-preservation."

"What makes you think he didn't try? I'm more nimble than I look."

Drake rolled his eyes and sighed.

"My father had visions of domination and conquest, but he was only one among many who had the same dream. In desperation and inspiration, he petitioned the Blood God. In exchanged for sacrificing the rest of his family, the god promised his sons would be warriors with inhuman prowess and gifts."

"There were four us. As you can imagine, we made my father's army was unstoppable. He fulfilled his dream and dominated our region until his death. Gifts of the gods are never without price. The Thirst had been with us from the beginning, but it was manageable. According to the priests, however, it would continue to grow unless we found a mate. Someone who could soothe and fill the empty place in our souls the Blood God had taken as payment. We fed on our multitude of conquered and enslaved adversaries. In the beginning, taking a little from each slave was enough. But as the years and centuries past, the Thirst became unquenchable. Undeniable."

Drake stood up, rolled his shoulders and started to pace.

"Arrogance, immortality and simple belief in our superiority made it easy to ignore what we were becoming. Until my youngest brother fell beneath its seductive spell. He became something monstrous. In a bid for even more power, he made a pact with the Dark One. It is his blood that flows in the Shadow Demons."

"After my father's death, we went our separate ways. I fell deeper and deeper under the spell of the Thirst, leading army's and conquests. Searching out battles and wars I could tell myself were honorable ways to indulge the darkness."

"Then word reached me that my youngest brother had succumbed completely to the Thirst. Turning his back on the code of the warrior to make a pact with the Dark One. He was creating a dark army to overwhelm the world and turn it into a playground for the most degraded of pleasures."

"Dark army. The Spooks?"

"Yes, it's his blood that flows in his veins. I sought out my other brothers and found them living in peace. The Thirst quenched into submission having found their mates. The three of us hunted and ultimately defeated the youngest. But I was forever changed. I had seen in the reflection of the darkness in me. Saw the ultimate end of the path on which I walked."

"Mates? The love of a good woman, you guys are suddenly no longer violent, mindless killers?" Hannibal asked, choking a little on the disbelieving laughter.

"It is a bit more complicated than that, but yes, finding our other half can dampen the unnatural drives of the Thirst." Drake shrugged. "After seeing the hope and relief finding one of the Blessed brought to my brothers, I traveled the world searching for my other half. When I failed to find my mate, I chose to bury myself deep and hope that when, if, I woke, I would find what I sought."

"Instead, I woke, completely subsumed in the Thirst. Ironically, it was Daystar which finally eased the unbreakable hold of the blood lust. My brothers found me. They have been more judicious in creation of children and have made a study of practices that ease the Thirst. They have taught me much."

"So, what, a little meditation, a little positive visualization and you're not a blood-sucking fiend anymore?" Hannibal asked, incredulous. "Is this step nine? Did you knock me out and imprison me here so you could make amends for killing my friends?"

"No. Nothing I say or do will even begin to absolve me of anything I have done since reawakening. You are here because the Shadow Demons are on the rise and there are too many of them for either of our alliances to take on alone. If we are to protect this city, and ultimately the world, we must work together."

"So you decided to drag me to a locked room in vamp central? Again?"

Drake actually flinched, looking… regretful?

Before Hannibal could wrap his brain around that possibility Drake was answering him.

"We intended to help you with your ambush then offer a truce to work together against a shared enemy. However, when I saw you foolishly chase a group on your own, we followed. Roslyn believed you might attack me before I could explain our purpose, so she knocked you out."

"Now what? You try to use me as bargaining chip to bring Abby to the negotiating table?"

"No," Drake said, then crossed the room and open the door, speaking quietly to someone unseen.

A few minutes later, a leggy blond walked in. She dropped Hannibal's boots on the floor next to him, dropped his — Drake's — sword on the bed and handed him a clean shirt.

He took the black button down and shrugged into, ignoring the itch to grab up the sword sitting tantalizingly close. Danica had loved to play those kinds of game. She'd leave weapons available, a door open, giving him hope he could escape, fight or even end it all. Only to snatch it away at the last second and punish him for his audacity.

Instead, he slipped on his boots, carefully checking to see if his knife was still sheathed inside without giving anything away.

"Everything satisfactory?" Drake smirked slightly, obviously not having missed Hannibal's attempt at subtlety.

"I usually prefer silk," he sighed, tugging at the front of his shirt. "I suppose handwoven linen will do."

"I'll keep that in mind for next time."

"Next time? That implies that I'm going to survive this time. Not that I'm complaining, mind you. I'd just like a little clarification on the odds."

"If we wanted you dead, King, you wouldn't have woken up. We would have left you to the Shadow Demons and continued with the plan to help your friends. You are free to go whenever you want. We just ask that you convey our request for a meeting to your leader."

"How do you know I'm not in charge?"

"Because Abigail Whistler is not subtle. And you're too erratic to be responsible for long-term leadership."

Hannibal considered the assessment for a second and nodded. "Fair enough. So when and where? Keeping in mind that Abby would probably rather use Drake as a pin cushion than voluntarily speak to him."

"O'Malley's pub, tonight. It will be Drake, me and one other."

"A bar? Really? And a bad, faux-Irish knock off at that? I have to give you points for not going with cliches, at least. I would have expected some Goth nightclub."

Roslyn rolled her eyes and shrugged. "I like the cheese fries. And I'm still trying to convince Drake to try O'Hara's Leann Follain. He insists on sticking with Guinness. His tastes are a little old fashioned."

Hannibal barked out a laugh and tamped down on the urge to hit on her. What was wrong with him, that he only seemed to be attracted to very bad people?

His eyes flickered from Roslyn to Drake and back. It may have something to do with the fact that the majority of bloodsuckers he'd met were outrageously beautiful.

"Well, maybe we can at least get him to try a black and tan." He stood up, fingers curling in on themselves, resolutely not looking at the sword still lying tempting on the bed. "I can't guarantee that she'll show, but I'll deliver the message."

"That's all I ask," she said, smiling and offering her hand. He considered ignoring it, but in the midst of enemy territory, when he wasn't being tortured or threatening, didn't seem like the time to make a pointless stand.

He watched her leave the room, standing uncertainly.

Drake cleared his throat, drawing Hannibal's attention and crossed to stand next to the door.

"If you're ready, I'll walk you out."

"Yeah, okay. Let's go." He took a couple steps but stopped when Drake frowned at him.

"Don't forgot your sword."

Hannibal froze and licked his lips. "Uh, yeah. It's not exactly _my_ sword."

"I noticed. But it's yours, now."

He tilted his head, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. _Fuck it._

He liked the sword. Had gotten used to using it. If Drake was playing some sick game, at least he'd face him with the blade in his hand. His entire body was tense when he picked it up, but Drake just nodded and headed out the door.

The walk to the elevator was silent and Hannibal couldn't help humming, off-key and off-beat, to the music as they descended. Instead of irritation or anger, Drake only smiled and shook his head.

The whole day was really starting to freak Hannibal out.

When the elevator finally opened in the lobby, a handful of people, more than one showing a flash of fang, went about their business. A few stopped to stare, but there was no hostility, only varying degrees of curiosity. And maybe a shy, interested smile from the receptionist?

These were the weirdest group of bloodsuckers he'd ever met. He heaved a sigh of relief when he finally walked out the door and slid into the mass of people crowding the sidewalks.

The bank of windows fronting the lobby gave Drake a clear view of King as he blended into the crowd on the sidewalk and moved quickly down the block. No doubt eager to be away from the den of predators.

Soft footsteps approached him from behind, but he continued watching until King disappeared from sight.

"Interesting young man," his brother said, quiet and thoughtful. Drake ignored him, preferring to watch the bustle of life passing by, just beyond the cool, thin barrier of glass.

Unfortunately, Scipio had never been able to take a hint. Or perhaps he just hadn't cared enough about boundaries to mind his own business.

"He must be formidable to have survived everything he's endured and still not flinch when faced with the father of vampires. It's interesting that he refuses to show you any fear or respect. And that you let him get away with it."

Drake rolled his eyes at the gentle mocking and the not so subtle attempt to probe for more insight. Continuing to ignore his brother, Drake turned on his heel and headed for the elevator.

Unsurprisingly, Scipio followed.

"Roslyn said you paid particular interest in him down in the tunnels. Insisting the team follow and protect him when he split off from the main team, instead of helping the Nightstalkers take down the larger group of Shadow Demons."

Drake finally looked at his brother, flashing the cold, dangerous glare that had once cowed kings and generals. Scipio only smirked and followed him onto the elevator when the doors opened.

"She also mentioned you were particularly attentive to his injuries and angry with her decision to render him unconscious."

His brother apparently intended to continue talking until Drake joined the conversation.

"He's our best hope, now," he answered, staring with unblinking focus on the number flashing much too slowly upward. "If anything had happened to him while we had him, there would be no chance of a truce with the Nightstalkers."

"I suppose you're right," Scipio agreed then dropped into silence. For a moment, Drake actually let himself believe his brother had let the conversation drop. He should have known better.

"I also noticed that he had your sword. And that he left with it."

Drake had no response to Scipio's observation. At least, not one he intended to share. Thankfully, the elevator slid to a stop and the door opened.

He stepped forward, one foot outside of the car when Scipio spoke again.

"Is he your mate?"

Anger, fear and a riot of unexamined emotions exploded and he was back in the elevator, pinning Scipio to its back wall before the words even completely registered.

"Never say that again," he growled, spit bubbling on his lips. "Never, ever, speak those words to him."

"Guess that answers my question," Scipio said with calm smugness. "He's not a bad choice. Why are you fighting it?"

Drake let go of his brother stepped back and stab the button to close the door, giving them privacy from the crowd who'd gathered.

"He isn't afraid to fight or to die. His greatest fear is being turned. He was defiant when he thought I'd kill him. He was terrified at the idea of becoming one of us again."

"He was never one of us," Scipio reminded Drake, shaking his head at the glare. "He was turned to be a pet, a slave—"

Drake growled again, hands transforming into claws, heart pounding with the craving to resurrect Danica just so he could rip her apart with his bare hands.

It had only been after Daystar cleared the ravening haze of Thirst from his mind that he realized the mistakes he'd made. What he'd destroyed and sacrificed without even recognizing it. Some deep-rooted instinct had kept him from committing worse sins, but it was not enough to mitigate what he'd done.

Danica's death had not been nearly painful enough. Not for the way she had mislead and used his distorted understanding of the modern world against him.

But most of all, not for the things she had done to Hannibal.

"—only saw the depravity and darkness of the degenerative dross your children became. He hasn't had a chance to see the difference between them and the Upyri. Hasn't had the opportunity to experience the extraordinary life we live. Especially when he understands what it's like without the Thirst overwhelming everything we experience. Once he understands the difference it makes, for you."

Drake focused on his hands, flexing and stretching until they twisted back into human form.

"Even if he were willing to put aside his conception of what we are, it would not negate what I did to his friends. To people he considers family. Or what I did to him."

"You were in the thrall of the Thirst—"

Drake shrugged away from the comforting hand Scipio tried to rest on his shoulder.

"Would it matter to you? If, in thrall, I killed Roslyn? Or Pitre? Could you forgive me if I murdered you son or granddaughter because of the Thirst?"

He stood straight, lifted his head and met Scipio's eyes unflinchingly.

"Daystar did not erase the Thirst in me. It simply eased it, for the time being. Eventually, it will hold me in its grasp again."

"Yes, but it doesn't have to…"

"I won't ask him. I don't deserve his forgiveness and he wouldn't ever give it. I've already arranged for another tomb to be built. Hopefully more secure than the one where the Talos found me. When the time comes, I will need the help. Can I count on you?"

"Of course," Scipio answered, wrapping Drake in an embrace.

"Thank you. For now, we must protect this world from the Shadow Demons. And we've wasted enough time."

 

Since Drake apparently already knew where the Nightstalkers had settled, Hannibal made a beeline for the warehouse. He felt way too exposed out in the open, knowing there were vampires that could endure the early morning sun.

He did his best to smile and return the enthusiastic greetings at his return. Underneath his laughter and sarcasm, his body was tense and tight and couldn't seem to relax and enjoy his triumphant return. Thankfully, most of the team took his snark and dark humor at face value.

Abby, however, knew him a little too well. She sidled up to him, herded him a few feet away from the others and demanded, "What's wrong?"

Hannibal pressed his hand to the back of his neck and ducked his head. "Let's go someplace a little quieter?"

She raised an eyebrow, but led the way back to the kitchen. Hannibal's stomach rumbled, so he grabbed an apple and paring knife from the counter, settled at the table and started at the beginning, with his stupid decision to play Lone Ranger.

Abby stayed quiet for most of his rambling recounting of his nights adventure, only asking an occasional question and frowning firmly at his life choices.

When he finished talking and had nothing left but an apple core, she rubbed her hands over her eyes, leaned back in her chair and stared at him.

"Drake's been alive all this time? And now he has a crew of vamps that are immune to UV? What do they want?"

"Apparently, to get rid of the Spooks."

"Right," she drew the word out with disbelief, then her gaze sharpened. "You don't really believe that, do you?"

He shrugged. "They saved me last night. And didn't kill me when they had the chance."

"Then they took you back to their den only to let you walk out this morning. Still carrying Drake's sword?"

Hannibal didn't like the doubt or accusation in her tone, but he couldn't really blame her, either. He was suspicious of good will from the vamp camp, too.

Abby stood up and circled around the table. "Let me see your neck."

Irritation burned into anger and frustration and he slammed his hands flat onto the table. But he stayed sitting, tilting his head to give her any eyeful still smooth skin.

"He's the fucking granddaddy of vampires. Don't you think he'd be smart enough to bite me someplace less obvious and cliche?" Frustrated, and exhausted, he let the anger bleed out. "Here, I'll save you the trouble of stripping me down and going over my skin inch by inch."

He picked up the paring knife and sliced a decent gash across his palm.

"Look, no super-human, accelerated healing."

His defiant triumphed lasted about three seconds before the pain caught up to his brain.

"Ow! Son of a bitch. That stings," he kept swearing and shaking his hand until Abby smacked the back of his head and grabbed the first aid kit.

"Shut up, baby, and let me see."

She took a firm grip on his wrist and began treating the admittedly minor wound.

"You know what?" he muttered. "Next time we do the naked thing. In retrospect, that sounds a lot more fun."

Abby huffed a laugh and the last of the tension eased out of the room.

"In your dreams, King."

Once he had a shiny new My Little Pony Band-aid  as a reminder of his stupidity, Abby packed the supplies back into the plastic case, and asked, "Do you think we should risk going to the meeting?"

He hated when she asked his opinion. He'd much rather share his sarcasm than actual input that could lead to decisions that might get them all killed. But he could only answer her honestly.

"Yes. I think we have to."

"Do you trust him?"

"No." It would be a cold day in hell before that ever happened. "No, but I think we have to accept that they're sincere for the moment. We can't defeat the Spooks on our own."

She nodded silently before standing up and brushing her hands off on her jeans.

"All right. Go get some rest. We're going to need to re-con that pub this afternoon and I'm not going to listen to you bitch about your lack of sleep last night, party boy."

An hour before the meet, the team spread out around the bar, checking it over from every angle and with every trick, gadget and deception they possessed.

"Three people in the bar, plus the bartender," Hannibal reported to Abby. "Drake, Roslyn and someone I didn't meet. From the resemblance, I'd say a relation to Roslyn. No back up in the area that we spotted. But I don't know what kind of tricks this brand of vamps has. Drake can shape-shift, so for all I know, the fire hydrant could be a blood-sucker in disguise."

"All right. Three of us will go in," Abby said, checking her weapons one last time, before looking up at Hannibal. "You, me and Dex. The rest of you, fan out and keep a perimeter. Let us know if anything hinky shows up."

"Hinky?" Hannibal rolled the word around and smirked. "We're about to negotiate with super-vamps about taking down their long lost cousins, the Spooks. This whole thing is hinky. Hinkier. More hinky? What is the proper comparative of hinky?"

Abby shoved his shoulder and walked past him, ignoring his running commentary and heading for the front door of the bar like she owned the place.

Hannibal fell into stepped behind her left shoulder and Dex took up position on her right.

Inside the bar, Roslyn sat at a square table with a single manila file in front of her. The unknown vamp stood tensely behind her. A few feet away, Drake lounged against the bar, a full pint glass of dark beer beside him. None of them appeared to be armed but it didn't keep Hannibal from automatically checking his sword and gun, anyway.

Abby nodded at Dex, who dropped back towards the door. He'd keep the escape route clear in case things went south and they had to run for it.

Roslyn stood as they approached the table, her smile tight with stress. Hannibal just hoped it wasn't stress caused by setting up an ambush for them.

"Abigail Whistler," Roslyn greeted, though she didn't offer her hand. Idly, Hannibal wonder if it just wasn't their custom, or if she knew enough about Abby to know better than to leave any body part vulnerable. "I've heard a great deal about you. I am Roslyn del Scipio, daughter of Pitre. This is my brother, Mace. And—"

"Drake." Abby's voice was calm but sharp. "We've met."

"Yes. Of course."

Roslyn sat back down and folded her hands on top of the table. In plain sight and obviously empty.

Abby waited a heartbeat or two, then she pulled out the chair across from Roslyn and dropped into it.

Hannibal considering mirroring Mace and standing guard behind Abby, but dismissed it. Anybody who thought she needed a body guard was an idiot and deserved what they got. Instead, he pulled out the chair next to her and spun it around and dropped into.

He did however, make sure he had an unrestricted view of Mace, Drake, the bartender and the door leading back into the kitchen.

"You followed a particular band of Shadow Demons here from your city," Roslyn said, not even pretending to make it a question. Apparently, their location wasn't the only thing the vamps knew about the Nightstalkers. "They are not the only band to have migrated here in the past few months. It is… out of the ordinary for them. Even after they no longer had to hide from the Nosferatu, they preferred to stick close to their own family groups and hunting grounds."

"We first noticed migrations a year ago. It took a while, but eventually our research discovered the time and pattern of their movements matched with the opening of an archaeological dig."

She picked up the folder next to her and pulled out a photo copy of a journal article.

"A black diamond and other rare finds were in a previously undiscovered crypt."

Abby looked over the article then raised an eyebrow at Roslyn. "And?"

"According to…" she glanced over her shoulder at Drake, who ignored her and took a sip of his beer. "According to certain legends, the Dark One helped one of the Ancients create the Shadow Demons. In order to defeat their brother, Drake, my father and Marcus needed the help and magic of a particularly powerful moon cult. Once the Ancient was defeated, the Dark One was bound and placed in the heart of a diamond. Which turned black as night."

"And you think that diamond is this one?" Abby tapped the photo on the page under her fingers.

"Yes. They began to swarm into the city after the contents of the find were placed on display at the history museum. They want the diamond so they can free their god and wreak havoc on the earth."

Hannibal leaned forward, tilting the chair little. "So why don't they just take it? I doubt they're all that concerned about museum security."

"Many of the other items bear magical glyphs that repeal the Demons and other followers of the dark gods. As long as the collection is on display together, they can't get near it. We have been planning to recover and destroy the diamond, but we can't remove the entire collection. And the second the diamond is outside of the museum, whoever has it will be swarmed. There are not enough Upyri in the city to fight them."

"But since we showed up, you've got your cannon fodder."

"Since you followed the Demons here, there should be enough of us, combined, to hold them off while a small team gets the diamond back to our building. Once there, we can destroy the diamond and the god it contains. It should severely weaken the Demons."

"So why not just destroy the diamond in the museum?" Hannibal frowned. "For that matter how does one destroy a god?"

"The answer to both of your questions is the same. Mates. It will take the freshly shed blood of the Ancients' mates to destroy the ravening hunger that is the Dark One. The way they destroy the Thirst within the Eldest Upyri. The Ancients will never allow their mates out into the kind of danger the Demons represent."

"Mates? You mean like the fairytale Drake told me that certain _special_ people could cure the Thirst in you? You guys watched Twilight one too many times."

"It is no fairytale. And it does not cure the Thirst, but makes it endurable. We do not need to feed often and never to the point of death. All of the blood we drink is offered freely, by humans who live with us in peaceful coexistence."

"Right," Hannibal drawled, but before he could dive into a rant, Abby put her hand on his arm. He took a deep breath and pinched his lips tight.

"So, do you have a mate?" she asked, voice steady but a hint of suspicion underscored the deceptively simple question.

"No. I have not been lucky enough to bond with my own yet. There are many potential mates out there, we can all… recognize them. But only a few are compatible with an individual. The presence of others' mates in the group, however, does have a soothing effect on the unmated."

"What, exactly, makes a potential mate different from the average human?"

"It's not something easy to describe. Something in their scent, in the way they feel, in the way we are drawn to them. Some believe that, like we were blessed by the Blood God, they carry the touch of a more benevolent deity. When they bond with an Upyri, it seems to fill the empty place in our soul which was the sacrifice to the Blood God."

"So why didn't the vamps… sorry, Nosferatu, ever discover them."

"They did, in a way," her eyes slid to Drake, whose face was blank and completely devoid of any emotion.

"Unfortunately, most of them gave in to the Thirst without any fight or restraint. There was nothing left of their souls to fill." Her eyes were flat and her voice hard with disgust and anger. "When a Nosferatu came across one of the blessed, they were driven to possess it. They took them as pets, familiars, toys to be used up and discarded."

The room dropped into silence and Hannibal's brain clicked over the information. And noted the way no one was looking directly at him.

"So, wait. Are you saying Danica… You're saying I'm a potential mate?"

"Yes," Roslyn answered quietly.

Hannibal couldn't help looking her over slowly, then leering as he leaned the chair even more dangerously forward on two legs. "Am I yours?"

She actually laughed. "No. Thankfully."

"Hey, I'm quite the catch. I have all my teeth. I make a mean pancake. And I apparently I smell like ambrosia to vamps."

"Shut up, King," Abby said, reaching over to press her hand to Hannibal's forehead. She shoved until his chair landed, hard, back on all four legs.

"Okay, then," Abby said, turning back to Roslyn. "All this is very useful. But why should we trust you?"

The two women stared at each other, tension vibrating in the air between them.

Finally Roslyn spoke. "I assume you have a silver dipped knife on you. May I borrow it?"

Abby didn't hesitate, just released the blade from her wrist sheath, flipped it once and handed it over, hilt first.

"Thank you." Roslyn then repeated Hannibal's trick and sliced open her own hand. Unlike him, she didn't show any pain or weakness.

The wound didn't automatically heal, like it would have from a normal blade. But it was slowly starting to knit itself back together. In a day or two, there probably wouldn't even be a scar.

Hannibal flexed his own aching, bandage-wrapped hand, and reminded himself that the downsides were not worth the lack of pain.

While they all watched the cut, Roslyn started talking again.

"Most of your usual methods won't work on us. Garlic, holy water, UV. We're immune to it all. Even silver, while inconvenient, isn't much of a hindrance."

"This is not helping in the trust department," Hannibal muttered, but everyone ignored him.

"Silver through the heart or the brain is what you'll need to stop one of my kind. And decapitation, of course."

Abby actually relaxed, a satisfied smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Of course. I assume silver bullets are good enough?"

Roslyn shivered slightly, but answered with a grin of her own. "Yes. But you better be a good shot, because we're very fast. You'll probably only get one chance."

"I'm a very good shot," Abby agreed. Suddenly the two of them were bonding over weapons and techniques before getting down to the nitty-gritty of battle-plans and museum blueprints.

Hannibal, quite honestly, was terrified. If the two of them got over their distrust and pooled their resources, forget the Spooks. The world was doomed.

Since his presence didn't seem to be necessary any more, Hannibal decided he was entitled to a drink after the day he'd had. At the bar, he continued to keep watch over the room while he ordered a Leann Follain.

Drake set his own now-empty glass on the bar next to Hannibal. "Make it two."

Hannibal turned to look at Drake, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm trying new things," Drake said with a shrug.

"How's that working out for you?"

Taking a sip of his refilled beer, Drake smiled and licked his lips. "Surprisingly well."

Hannibal's body tightened for a second before his brain caught up and recoiled at the moment of unrestrained attraction. Buying a silent moment to bury the memory under a mental wall of concrete, Hannibal rolled his shoulders until he got a couple of good pops.

"Does the new things include not murdering innocents or kidnapping children?"

There was a flash of something that might actually be regret in Drake's face before it settled back into its usual inscrutable arrogance.

"Among other things. Daystar eased the Thirst, living with my brothers' families has given me more of a reprieve from the darkness that once consumed me. I have millennia of sins I can never forget or be forgiven, but I am attempting to forge a different path. To improve the world instead of letting it burn around me."

"Let me know how that goes for you," Hannibal said, then downed half of his glass. "And the rest of the world. Because, it would be really nice to take a vacation once in a while."

"King…"

Unwilling to listen, to let his fury or his healthy fear be swayed, Hannibal turned his back on Drake and focused on Abby and Roslyn.

"…We'll set up squads here and here to clear a path for King and Drake." Abby leaning over the table and pointing to something on the map they'd spread out between them. "It's the most direct path back to your building."

"Wait. What? What am I doing? And with who?"

Abby blinked at him, giving him the same look his third grade teacher used to give him when he'd lost his lunch money _again._

 _"_ You and Drake are going to steal the diamond while Roslyn and I lead the teams that are going to keep the Spooks off your back."

"Why me?" He winced as soon as he said and saw the look of exasperation Abby gave him.

She turned to Roslyn and asked, "Do they ever outgrow that?"

"Not noticeably," she answered, pinching her lips to keep from laughing when she glanced toward her brother, who rolled his eyes. "My grandmother always seem to have luck with a simple, 'because I said so,' though. It might be worth a try?"

Abby put her hands on her hips, looked hard at Hannibal with a straight face and repeated Roslyn's suggestion.

"Because I said so."

He heaved a sigh and glared back. "That's it, no more vampire play-dates. They're a bad influence on you."

He turned back to the bar, drained his glass and tried to figure out how he was going to make through a whole mission with the granddaddy of vampires without ending up dead.

Twenty-four hours later, Hannibal stood in front of the museum, watching the sun drop lower in the sky. He tried not to notice the shadowy alleyways all around it that were perfectly placed for Spooks to lie in wait once full darkness fell.

"Tell me again why we aren't doing this at, say, high noon? When we won't have to worry about getting ambushed the second we step outside?"

"Because we can't switch out the Dark One's diamond with the replacement in a gallery full of onlookers."

Hannibal jumped a little when Drake spoke right into his ear. The man— _the vampire—_ managed to be closer than Hannibal expected whenever he spoke or moved.

"Right." No one wanted to draw attention to what they were doing, and apparently the Upyri had a dragon-like hoard of gold and jewels which held more than one appropriately sized black diamond. "Aren't they going to notice the diamond is different?"

"Possibly. But who's going to report that someone stole a diamond and replaced it with an _almost_ identical one of equal value?"

Apparently Drake hadn't met any curators. Not that it mattered. By the time anyone noticed a switch, they'd be long gone and the real diamond rendered useless.

Or they'd all be dead and the army of Spooks would be someone else's problem.

He shivered, remembering how close to biting it he came the last time he'd faced a pack of them. Fighting something you could rarely touch was a horrifying experience. Vamps were stronger and faster but they could be hit. Slowed. Hurt. Fighting the Spooks was like fighting air.

"We should go in and find a place to secrete ourselves. The museum closes soon."

"Yeah. And the sun sets shortly after."

Drake gently set his hand on arm. "When we leave, I'll lead. My claws affect them, even in their incorporeal form."

Obviously meant to be reassuring, but Hannibal rolled his eyes and headed for the entrance.

Inside, a pretty blond docent gave them a brochure and a considering once-over. She took in the expensive fabric and cut of Drake's linen shirt and the gold shine of his watch and turned her smile, and cleavage, in his direction.

"The museum closes in the thirty minutes. I'd be happy to arrange a private, and thorough, tour if you'd like to meet me here tomorrow."

Drake returned her smile, but he moved closer to Hannibal, pressing them together from shoulder to hip.

"I'm afraid my friend is only in town for the night, and there's an exhibit he really wants to see."

He emphasized his words with suggestive leer and a slight wave of the brochure. When the docent gaped at them, Drake put his hand low on Hannibal's back and maneuvered him towards the first gallery.

 Hannibal sputtered for a minute before he found the words he wanted. A rarity for him.

"Did you just imply I was your boy-toy? One apparently turned on by—" He grabbed the brochure out Drake's hand. "The 'erotic sculptural re-imaginings of techno-biological forms…' What does that even mean?"

"I have no idea. What this century considers art continues to confuse me."

"Still, why the…" Hannibal waved his hands trying to convey all the touching and suggestiveness.

"Would you have preferred she follow us around the museum? She seemed the type to be persistent."

Hannibal pressed his lips together. He hated that Drake had a point. Instead of admitting it, he changed the subject.

"According to Roslyn's blueprints, our hiding place should be in this direction."

A few minutes later, Hannibal knelt in front of the janitor's closet, cursing while he tried to pick the lock. It was one of the few spaces that had neither an alarm nor an electronic lock and a perfect place for them to hide while waiting for the museum to close and Axis to hack the alarm system.

Perfect, _if_ he could open the damn lock, that was.

Next to him, Drake went still, head cocking to the side before he glanced down the hallway.

"Hurry. The guards a doing a pre-closing round to usher people out of the museum. They'll be here in a minute."

 _"_ Sorry," he hissed back. "I'm a little out of practice. Didn't need to pick locks that often when hunting vamps and Spooks. Usually, we just smash in the door—"

He broke off mid-sentence when Drake hauled him up and pressed his back against the locked closet door. His heart hammered against his ribs but there was nothing sinister in Drake's eyes. He heard the slap of feet and the murmur of voices and he realized Drake was reacting to someone's approach.

Then Drake's lips pressed against his, the strong body caging him in.

"Relax, Hannibal."

His name was a hum, whispered against his lips and followed by the slow slide of Drake's tongue demanding entry.

Then all threads of thought dissolved as Drake kissed him. Slow. Deep. Thorough. Hannibal's body was consumed with sensations. Hard thigh pressing between his legs. Solid chest pressing against his. Strong hands cradling his waist, pushing his t-shirt out of the way so skin met skin. Warm mouth, unexpectedly gentle and languid, nudging him into a sensual, mutual exploration.

"Ahem," someone cleared their throat, an embarrassed, uncomfortable sound that Hannibal wanted to ignore.

But Drake eased back, putting only an inch or two of space between them when he twisted to face the two security guard who'd interrupted them.

One looked amused and intrigued, the other fidgeted and blushed so hard his ears looked like they might catch fire.

"Uh, the museum is, er, closing. In five minutes. Um…" Officer Red Face stuttered and stumbled over his words and Hannibal knew exactly how he felt.

"I apologize," Drake said, not even a little breathless, despite the fact that Hannibal felt like his lungs might never catch up again. "We got a little carried away. We'll be on our way as soon as we're presentable."

Drake plucked at his shirt, and Hannibal wondered when it had gotten untucked and rumpled. Until he remembered his hands twisting in the fabric as he'd tried to anchor himself in the rush of sensation.

Which made him realize his own t-shirt was still rucked up, showing a couple of inches of abs. That Officer Intrigued wasn't even hiding his interest in. Hannibal fumbled to jerk his shirt down while glaring at the inappropriate ogler.

"Right, uh, just. Five minutes."

The two guards continued on their way.

Hannibal considered bitching at Drake, but he wasn't some blushing virgin, outrage by certain liberties taken. Instead he glowered for a minute, before going back to work on the lock. Another thirty seconds of focus and he heard the sweet click of success.

"Hah. I did it."

The triumphed lasted only long enough for him to realize that it meant locking himself in a tiny room with Drake. Who he didn't trust. And who had just lit up his body like he was in a Disney Parade.

His libido had always had the worst taste.

Drake's claws pressed hard against his palms in a vain attempt to distract him from the closeness of his m— of Hannibal.

Kissing him had been a mistake. An indulgence he should never have allowed himself. But it had seemed the simplest, and most pleasant, way to distract the guards. Other than killing them, that is, which Hannibal no doubt would have objected to.

Now, though, his tongue hungered with the need for another taste. His body hummed with the need to touch, to erase the few centimeters space the closet allowed them. He strained with the need to forget everything, the mission, his people, the fate of the world, and do everything in his power to convince his mate to forgive him.

Which was never going to happen.

Hannibal's phone chimed, a welcome distraction.

"Axis in hacked into the system. We have a clear shot at the diamond and the guards won't start their rounds for another fifteen minutes. Longer if the game goes into overtime. Let's go."

Leaving the confines of the tiny room was both relief and torture. He no longer had to battle his instincts quite so fiercely. But he no longer had the bitter-sweet closeness. A boon he would most likely not get again.

Getting to the diamond and replacing it with the duplicate went exactly to plan.

"Like taking candy from a baby," Hannibal murmured, tossing the dull black stone about the size of a child's fist in his hand a couple of times like he was testing its weight. Satisfied, he tucked the diamond into his jacket then paused, nose wrinkling. "Let's get out of here before I jinx us."

He pushed past Drake, heading for the planned exit, where Abby and Roslyn had a team clearing the way for them. By now, night had fallen outside and the Shadow Demons would be gathering. The second they stepped outside, the demons would feel the diamond and descend on them.

Drake heard the voices first and gripped the back of Hannibal's shirt, hauling him back before he turned the corner. Hannibal opened his mouth and Drake pressed his other hand to Hannibal's lips before he could give them away to the guards gossiping next to their planned exit. Then he tugged him back the way they'd come.

When they were far enough away, he let go and Hannibal sighed. "I jinxed us after all, didn't I?"

"There were two guards by the door. They seemed comfortable talking about a game of skill and whether to bet on the next event."

"Fuck. Okay, let's head for the door on the north side." Hannibal pulled out his phone and started tapping with his thumbs.

"Axis will pass the change of plan on to Abby. We'll just wait to go out until she can shift position."

The tap tap tap of approaching footsteps spurred Drake into action.

"No time," he said and pushed in front of Hannibal, heading for closest door. He paused with his hand on the handle. Looking over his shoulder, his heart clenched at the resignation pinching Hannibal's face. Whatever happened, Drake was going do anything and everything possible to protect him.

"Stay behind me. Light it up and let me do the fighting."

Before Hannibal could snark back, Drake pushed through the door, angling his body to keep Hannibal between the wall and the rest of the alley. The first hit came before his eyes adjusted, opening a deep gash on his side. He let his fingers twist into razor sharp claws and let lose the fury he'd been keeping leashed since Daystar.

Behind him, the first flash lit up the night and he ripped both sets of claws through the Spook in front of him. It disappeared into nothingness a split second before another took its place and the light sputtered out.

Over and over, Drake hit, clawed, bit and tore into the pathetic monsters in the strobing light Hannibal provided. Eventually, the first wave of demons was reduced to mist, but already more rushed at them from the mouth of the alley. The blood Drake had lost was weakening him but he pushed forward, fighting with everything he had.

The light strobed out again, and, before the next one flared, he heard a pained cry and Hannibal let loose a string of curses. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Light, goddamn it! Light. Aha!"

Fury burned in his gut, instinct erasing everything but the need to protect his mate. Two more demons fell under the hammering blows. They would not touch Hannibal again.

Another flash flared to life and Drake saw another group was joining the demons in front of him. The diamond was calling to them and there was no time to wait for Abby and Roslyn.

Transforming would take almost everything he had left. But it was the only choice he had to get Hannibal out alive.

Drake turned, shifting until he felt the wings spread free. Hannibal stared at him, slack-jawed, fear freezing him in place.

Knowing he terrified his mate hurt more than the dozens of demon-inflicted wounds healing to slowly over his body. But there wasn't time to reassure Hannibal.

"Hold on," he growled, wrapping his arms around Hannibal and lifting them both into the air. He hadn't expected Hannibal to listen, had expect him to fight. But he wrapped his arms around Drake's neck, clinging tight.

Drake could hear the litany of 'o _h god, oh god, oh god,_ ' Hannibal muttered under his breath.

Several heavy beats of his wings and Drake set them down, gently, on the roof of a building a few blocks away.

As soon as they touched down, Drake let go, transforming as he stumbled back. Once sure that Hannibal was unhurt and safe, at least temporarily, he let himself collapse to the ground.

Hannibal stared at Drake, looking human again and no longer… _not-human_. "What the hell was that?"

" _That_ was getting us out of a no-win situation," Drake answered, sounding exhausted, which was almost more frightening than fighting off the Spooks. Drake was never anything but supremely arrogant and completely in control.

"Why wasn't flying one of the options in the original plan? It seems like that would have been much better than, I don't know, rushing head-long into never-ending waves of Spooks."

"Because transforming like that takes a lot of energy. Energy that has to be replenished. Shouldn't you be contacting Abby?"

Hannibal mouthed the word recharged, ready to argue when he realized what Drake meant. A vampire's fuel was blood. Blood that needed a human donor. Digging that deep into his reserves could bring the Thirst in Drake roaring back to the surface. After the beating Drake had taken, the blood he'd loss and the energy he'd exerted getting them to safety, Hannibal wondered how close to the edge Drake was skating.

But, one problem at a time. He pulled out his phone and let Abby know, yet again, about the change in plans.

After that fun conversation was done, he tucked his phone away and turned back to share. "Abby and Roslyn are on their way. We should be downstairs, waiting for the cavalry in ten minutes. And they'd really like us to stop improvising…"

His voice trailed off as he caught sight of Drake, who'd tucked himself up against the low wall, knees pulled up so his head could rest on them. The shirt was long gone, ripped to shreds between the demons and Drake's transformation. There were dozens of half-healed wounds sliced across the normally perfect torso. Blood covered him, still seeping from some of the wounds.

The lack of healing was partially explained because the of the demon's effect on vampire physiology. But it also meant Drake needed blood.

Not that Hannibal cared, as long as he wasn't on the menu. Just, Drake was in that condition because he'd protected Hannibal.

"Whatever," he muttered. Then he sat down next to Drake and dropped his head back against the wall to stare up at the night sky.

"Are you going to make it back, without biting anyone?"

He hadn't meant to ask. Didn't want to give Drake any ideas. But the vampire wasn't looking so good.

Drake lifted his head, visibly pulling himself together and plastering on that arrogant smirk.

"I'll be fine. I'll get you back safe. I promise."

Somewhere in the middle, Drake's voice slipped from smug into something deeper and more intense. Something that made Hannibal's stomach flip and his instincts want to trust in the promise. Despite knowing better than to ever trust a bloodsucker.

Angry at himself, he lashed out. "You can drop the act. I'm not buying the good guy routine. Redemption is for lesser beings. You know, like us poor humans. So what is your game?"

His heart thundered in his ears as his brain frantically tried to remind his mouth not to piss off someone who might be his only safe way off this fucking roof.

But Drake just closed his eyes with a resigned sigh and answered him a voice so low, Hannibal had to strain to hear it.

"When I went to sleep, I was deep in the thrall of the Thirst. Locking myself away was my last sane act. Centuries without blood left me feral. Waking up to a world where my kind graced bobble-heads and lunch boxes and cereals fed my rage. Danica fueled it more."

He opened his eyes and turned to look at Hannibal.

"The first moment of clarity was in that office. I didn't understand at the time but being in the presents of one of the blessed eased the darkness in my a little. I didn't kill you and didn't kill the child. When I invaded your Nightstalkers base, my plan was to kill everyone and torture the information about Daystar out of your scientist."

"Instead, you killed Sommerfield, left Zoe an orphan and handed me over to the thundercunt," Hannibal reminded Drake bitterly.

Drake dropped his head once again. "Even the presence of your blessing wasn't enough to completely push out the darkness. It did allow me to push past the roaring need of the Thirst enough to realize Danica and her crew were idiots. That it was your side who had honor and integrity."

"Her plan was ridiculous. It was obvious you would never break to protect yourself. And, even turned, you would die before biting the girl. If she wanted to break you, she should have tortured the girl in front of you. Or threatened to turn _her._ "

Hannibal swallowed hard, knowing Drake was right. He'd have betrayed Blade and the rest in a heartbeat to protect Zoe from enduring what he'd suffered. He wasn't going to admit anything, though. Drake could just be guessing.

"So, Dr. Freud, if you know me so well, why didn't you share your insights with the rest of the class?"

"Because I already knew she would lose. I faced Blade, hoping he was special enough to put an end to my own torment. Unfortunately, even he couldn't kill me. But Daystar finished what you started, pushing the emptiness to a small corner of my soul."

He took a deep breath. "I don't expect redemption or forgiveness. I don't deserve it. But I have a second chance. I hope, in the time I have before the Thirst overwhelms me again, that I can do some good to help balance the scales."

Hannibal stared at him. Unreasonably angry because Drake made it infinitesimally harder to hate him completely.

"Goddamn it."

Drake frowned at him then started to push himself to his feet. Despite his best effort, he couldn't hide the faint sway of his body, or the slight weakness in his posture.

"Abigail and Roslyn should be here soon," Drake said, as he turned toward the roof access. "We should—"

Hannibal grabbed his wrist and Drake stopped in his tracks, looking back in surprise.

Taking a deep breath, Hannibal said, "Bite me."

Drake froze, looking uncertain. "What?"

"Bite me. You have enough control not to drain me right? And you're going to be a hell of a lot more useful in a fight with the Spooks then I will. Especially if we need the express escape again."

"I can't… You don't want that."

"No. Biting is not in my top ten list. But not dying is number one. And not letting the world end around me is top five. So. Bite me and let's get this over with."

Drake stood completely still, for the first time ever Hannibal assumed, he looked uncertain.

With a frustrated growl, Hannibal stepped into Drake's space. "Bite me, damn it."

Despite his demand, Hannibal couldn't help hesitating. But he'd never been a coward and it wasn't like he hadn't endured this particular nightmare before. Swallowing fear of what he knew was coming, he stiffened his body along with his resolve and tilted his head, baring his throat in open invitation.

Eyes flashed and a soft, preternatural growl skittered down Hannibal's spine like an electric shock. But not an unpleasant one.

The scrape of teeth across his skin shivered along his nerves and Hannibal's muscles tensed even tighter. But there was no pain. No ripping, no tearing, no violent assault on his vulnerable, sensitive throat.

The fangs slid in smooth and warm and painless. Warmth spread along his skin and with every pulse of his blood he felt soft pleasure slide into his veins. Drake's arms slipped around his waist, holding him steady, holding him close. But not pinning him.

It was an embrace. Warm and comfortable. Nothing like the violent assault Danica considered foreplay. If this is what the Upyri's companions felt, he could almost understand the willingness to share blood. Sweet, cool bliss seeped through him and he sank against Drake, letting him take both their weight while Hannibal let himself be held for the first time in a long, long time.

He blinked open eyes he hadn't even noticed closing. Lightheaded. Blood loss. He wasn't enjoying this. The sensual, seductive sensation was a side effect of being fed on. It had nothing to do with how much he was simply enjoying being held with gentleness.

 "Enough," he whispered, so low, he barely heard himself. He doubted Drake would hear. Or listen if he did. And Hannibal wasn't sure he had the strength or the will to fight him.

The hands on his hips tightened but the teeth withdrew, as gentle and slow as they had entered. Drake stayed close, lips pressed against the tiny wounds he'd left behind. For the first time, Hannibal realized he was hard. And so was Drake.

His heart kicked into overdrive and he bit back the hysterical laughter that wanted to bubble out his mouth. This? This was what panicked him? Not the vampire taking blood? Not making himself vulnerable to someone he shouldn't trust?

No. Mutual stiffies was the part his hind brain couldn't handle.

"Are you all right?" Drake asked, shifted back and putting some space between them. He kept one hand hovering behind Hannibal's back, though. Like Hannibal was some Victorian maiden ready to faint are a moment's notice.

"Sure. Fine. Good. Never been better," Hannibal winced at his inability to stop the inane babbling.

His phone beeped and he'd never been so grateful for a text in his life. "Calvary's here. We should head down."

Without waiting for Drake, he turned on his heel and headed for the edge of the roof.

"Well, fuck," Hannibal muttered when he looked over the side. The first fire escape was a good twenty feet down. He swayed a little, still lightheaded and uncertain on his feet.

"Hold on," Drake murmured in his ear, slipping arm around his shoulder and another under his legs and swinging him up into a bridal carry.

"Wait, what?" Hannibal cried, scrambling to grip Drake's shoulders.

But Drake was already leaping over the side of the building, landing lightly on the fire escape.

"OK, Conan. Put me down. I can make it down the rest of the stairs all by my little ol' self."

"It will be faster if I carry you down."

"Maybe. But I am not explaining to Abby why I'm playing damsel in distress."

Drake frowned at him but set him carefully on his feet. Still hovering though. "Does it matter so much what she thinks of you?"

"Me? No. If she realizes you fed from me, though, she'll gut you first and forget to ask questions at all."

"You're protecting me?" Drake asked, sounding both stunned and touched.

Hannibal rolled his eyes and kept his mouth shut. Because, honestly, he had no answer for that.

Instead, he pushed past Drake and started taking the steps two at a time as he headed for the ground and the normalcy of battling supernatural creatures.

Hannibal heaved a sigh of relief when they stepped inside the elevator. They'd actually made it back to the high rise without too much trouble, but the entire trek across the city had been tense and uncertain. The Nightstalkers and Upyri kept most of the Spooks off them and Drake handily dealt with the few that made it through to them, but there were a couple of close calls he never wanted think about again.

More and more of the Spooks had converged on them and now there was an army concentrated around high rise. Abby and Roslyn and their teams were up to their neck in demons, protecting the perimeter while Hannibal and Drake raced to the top floor.

When the elevator doors open, Hannibal actually winced.

"Well, I see the Upyri have the same ostentatious taste as their cousins."

The entire room was white marble and gleaming gold and brightly lit with precisely placed candelabra. In the center, a waist-high, perfectly square block of pristine marble stood. On top of it a shallow, gold offering bowl had been polished to within an inch of someone's life, no doubt.

"Really? We couldn't have done this in, like a boardroom or something," he continued, following Drake across the room, where two couples, all dignified and stately, waited for them by the dais. Altar. Thingy.

Drake chuckled. Actually chuckled. Which made Hannibal worry even more. Surely that was one of the signs of the apocalypse.

"Hannibal King, these are my brothers, Scipio and Marcus. And their mates Cecilia and Graece."

"Uh, pleasure," Hannibal ducked his head, suddenly very, very uncertain.

"The pleasure is ours, Mr. King," Scipio greeted him, with a surprisingly warm and welcoming smile. "We appreciate your willingness to set aside your distrust in order to perform such an important mission."

"And you'll have to excuse our ostentatiousness. The habits of our youth are hard to break, even all this time." Marcus smirked before turning to Drake. "Everything is ready. Just place the diamond on the offering plate and we can begin."

Everyone was looking at Drake, who tilted his head toward Hannibal. Four sets of eyes swung to him, with various degrees of surprise. He could practically hear them thinking how absurd it was to entrust something so important to the fragile human.

"So, yeah, not uncomfortable at all," he drawled, dragging out the last word. He pulled out the diamond from its _very_ secure, thank you very much, hiding place. In his inside jacket pocket.

Carefully he set it in the center of the gold dish and stepped back out of the way.

The two woman, stood on either side and began to chant in a language that barely even sounded human. The chamber echoed the words back, creating a harmony that surprisingly beautiful. The sound continued to reverberate, rising and filling the room with an electric sense of anticipation.

When the sound reached its crescendo, a Cecilia shook back her sleeve, revealing a wrist sheath almost identical to the one Abby wore, and an ornate dagger slid into her hand.

Efficient and unhesitating she cut her hand and passed the knife over to Graece, who followed suit. Then they both let blood drip and mingle over the Dark One's diamond. At this rate, palm scars were going to become a fashion trend.

Except, of course, Hannibal was the only one who could actually scar.

The last echo fell away, Cecilia and Graece stopped bleeding and dropped their hands and nothing changed.

"Uh, did it work?" Hannibal asked into the silence. The blank looks he got in answer made his stomach churn and grabbed for his phone. His first try was Abby, who didn't answer. Axis picked up, sounding frantic and confirming his worst fear.

"It didn't work. They just keep coming. Fuck. Fuck."

"Hang tight. I'm on my way. Just…" Hannibal headed for the elevator before even ending the call.

Scipio stopped him by the expedient of stepping in his way.

"I have to get out there. If this isn't going to work, I have to help them fight."

"We are not done here yet. It took three of us to stop our youngest brother. And three of us were present when the moon cult bound the Dark One. Numbers have power." Scipio raised his head, looking past Hannibal. "We need the help of your mate, Drake. You must ask."

"No." He snarled the single word with furious vehemence that echoed through the chamber.

"No?" Hannibal demanded incredulously, turning to plant his hands on his hips and glare at Drake. "My friends are dying out there. Get over your commitment issues. Man up."

A hand rested soothingly on Hannibal's shoulder and he turned to find Cecilia smiling with gentle understanding. "He's trying to protect his mate. He does not believe the knowledge of a connection to him would be welcome or appreciated."

"Well, of course not. Slight matter of bloodsucking…" His mouth slowed down and his brain sped up. Along with his heart-rate as a hundred meaningless facts suddenly slid into place.

His head jerked up to stare at Drake. Who was looking shiftily somewhere around Hannibal's left foot.

"You didn't kill me. Twice. You said your first moment of clarity was in Vance's office. Where you first saw me." A hundred different emotions rolled through Hannibal. He decided to settle on anger. Anger was good. Filling. Not awkward.

"Did you know then?"

"Did you know then?"

Drake and shook his head.

"No. No I didn't suspect until Daystar cleared my head. Even then, I wasn't sure until I saw you in the tunnels."

Drake finally lifted his head, looking at Hannibal like he was hoping… for something. Whatever it was, Hannibal was sure he didn't have it to give.

"And you weren't ever going to tell me?"

"Did you want me to? Did you really want to know?"

"Touche," he retorted with a smirk and a head tilt. If he was honest with himself, though, deep down he did want to know. He was as angry that Drake hadn't told as he was to find out.

Which just proved self-reflection was never a good idea. Delusions and self-deceit made much better life-choices.

Fuck it. He'd deal with this later. Preferably much, much later. Or hey, maybe he'd get lucky and it wouldn't work. The world as he knew it would end tonight and he'd never have to deal with it all.

Talk about frying pans and fires.

Fucking vampires.

Turning his back on Drake, Hannibal forced a smile in Cecilia's direction and ask, "So, how exactly does this work?"

She smiled back and held out her hand to dray him back to the altar. Together Cecilia and Graece walked him through the ritual the chant. When the time came, he ripped off the bandage and reopened the wound on his hand. The blood drip down, mingling with the Graece and Cecilia's. The reaction was instant and fantastic.

The diamond shook violently, cracking in a dozen places until the color bled out completely and the stone shattered into pale dust.

"Did it work?" Hannibal demanded.

Cecilia shrugged. "If it didn't, that was a pretty spectacular for a dud."

This time, when he dialed Abby's number she answered.

"It's about time, King. Things were starting to get a little iffy down here."

"It worked? What happened?"

"Not quite sure, but for a second, the Spooks all just stopped. Some moaned and some screamed, some ran away. The ones that kept fighting are suddenly very, very corporeal with or without light. They didn't seem to like that change of circumstances and they're all running away now."

"Good. Good."

Hannibal closed his eyes, shoulders slumping in relief. Whatever. It had been worth it.

"What happened up there? It wasn't supposed to take this long."

"Things got…" he paused, eyes automatically drawn to Drake. "Complicated. I'll be down in a little bit. Then we can get out of here and I'll never have to look at a fucking vampire ever again."

Drake's eyes tightened, his mouth pinched and an air of stoic pain practically vibrated around him. For a moment, Hannibal almost felt bad. Almost considered offering… something.

Fuck that. Hannibal was not that kind of girl.

Before he left, though, he had some questions.

"What the hell? You weren't going to tell me? Which, great, 'cause I'd really rather not have known. Supernatural, immortal stalker is not my idea of romance. On the other hand, what happens when I leave? How long until you become Vlad the Impaler again?"

Drake drew himself up, looking offended. Like Hannibal's conclusion was far-fetched by any stretch of the imagination.

"I won't. I have made arrangements."

"Arrangements? How the how do you make arrangements for becoming a soulless, rampaging leech?"

"There's a tomb, deep beneath the foundations of this building. My brothers are well versed in the ritual to put me to rest again. This time they and their descendants will watch over my slumber and ensure no one unleashes me again."

And that. That sucked.

Hannibal shouldn't _care._ He _didn't_ care.

So what if Drake had just finished helping save the world and his brilliant plan was to retreat from it. Spend eternity asleep, alone. Like some fucking Disney princess.

Silence stretched out ominously while Hannibal tried to twist and turn way too much information into some kind of logical tapestry. He hated Drake. Or, he had. But the past few days, the son of a bitch had done nothing but save Hannibal's fucking life. Not to mention the way Hannibal's body had reacted to the kissing, the touching. The fucking blood sucking.

He needed to stop thinking and get out.

"You know what. I don't have anything left to…" He waved his hand vaguely around the room.

"We're done here, right?" Hannibal stared at the elevator, walking toward it like it was a fucking lifeline. "World saved? Mission accomplished? Good. It's been… something. See you around. Or not."

He kept his eyes on the back wall until he was safely inside. Staring at Drake wasn't an option.

Except, he couldn't help glancing up, when he turned to press the button. Drake, open longing and bitter disappointment etched deep on his face, watched him until the doors slid closed between them.

Drake watched Hannibal walk away, memorizing every muscle, every feature every breath. He knew he'd never see his mate again. This, these few days would have to last him for eternity.

Hopefully, he'd at least get to dream about him, when he entombed himself again.

He'd known, from the moment of realization, this couldn't, wouldn't end any other way. Yet, he'd let himself hope, deep in his heart. When they'd worked so well together. When Hannibal had offered his blood. When his mate had reacted to the blood-sharing with physical pleasure.

He'd known better, but even millennia of experience couldn't keep him from hoping for a miracle.

His brothers stepped close, offering support as the stood shoulder to shoulder with him.

"I'm sorry," Scipio said softly. "For forcing the issue."

"No, need." Drake tried to smile, but his mouth twisted into a pained grimace. "It was necessary."

Cecilia stepped closer and took his hands in hers. "This was a shock. He may still come around."

Drake did laugh. A hard, pathetic sound. "I doubt it. His stubbornness has ensured his survival his entire life. I don't expect him to change now."

Graece shook her head and patted his shoulder before leaning into her mate.

"You born Upyri never believe it, but the Blessed feel the pull, too. Not as strong or clear, but it's there. Now that he understands, he won't be able to forget."

"I hope he does," Drake murmured. Hannibal deserved to be happy. Dwelling on Drake would not let him move past the atrocities of his past. The best thing for Hannibal was to forget all about Drake and to move forward with his life.

Four days later, Hannibal sat at the kitchen table, hunched over his bowl of ice cream. He wasn't quite quick enough to hide his breakfast of champions from Abby, though.

Now, she stood across from him, hands on hips and shaking her head at him. "You are such a cliche, King."

Hannibal curled his arm around his bowl and ducked his head, knowing exactly what she was going to say.

"I am not eating my feelings," he insisted. "Actually, scratch that, I am totally feeling _New York Super Fudge Chunk_ right now."

"Whatever. Since the Spooks that survived seem to be migrating back to wherever they came from, I think its a good time to head back home. The rest of the team is starting to pack up. When you recover from your self-induced sugar coma, it might be nice for you to help out."

"Pack?" He swallowed the over-sized spoonful he just popped in his mouth to fast and winced at the rush of pain behind his eyes. "Right. Pack. Go back."

Abby sighed and sat down. Hannibal stiffened, recognizing her serious, get your shit together look. He'd told her the bare bones of what happened. What he was supposed to be to Drake. He'd been avoiding the more detailed conversation for days, but she had him pinned, now.

"Are you ever going to talk about it?"

He swirled the spoon in the melting ice cream and considered playing dumb. Instead, he opted for deflecting.

"Well, you're right. I'm going to miss my room. It had a really nice view of the dumpster. As long as I get to keep my Van Helsing poster and my Batman blanket, though, I should be fine."

Abby reached across the table to cuff his head and stole his bowl when she drew her hand back.

"You know what I'm talking about. You just drop a bomb like that, then pretend every thing's fine. While eating every drop of sugar you can find."

"Everything _is_ fine. Just no sense in letting food go to waste if were moving."

"The world has changed on us, Hannibal. We're hard wired to look at certain things in certain ways. But those things are different now."

"Are they?" he drawled. He'd spent the past four days telling himself nothing was different. He really didn't want to hear this. Except. Part of him did.

"I spent a lot of time with Roslyn and her family," Abby said, emphasizing the last word. "That's what they are. A family. Not a pack of predators. Not a scourge on humanity. Upyri are not the vampires we're used to. Like I said, the world has changed. Our perceptions have to change, too."

"Drake's still Drake," he said.

"Is he? I hate him for what he did. But is he really the same Drake that Danica first woke up?"

"Yes," he snarled.

"Are you the same? Does the fact that you were once a vampire negate what you are now? What you've done since?"

"Fuck you."

"Forget the past, Hannibal. And all the baggage. What do you want? Right now, what do you want?"

"I don't know." He collapsed back in his chair, exhausted from the conversation and the way he'd been chasing that same question for days.

"Maybe you should try to figure that out. Because I have known you a long time, and I have never seen you mope." She scraped the last drops of liquid chocolate out of the bowl and licked it off the spoon. "And the next time you steal my ice cream, you better watch out for stray cross-bow bolts."

 

 

Sitting still after his conversation with Abby was pretty much impossible. Restless and trying hard to escape the cacophony of conflicting thoughts, emotions and crazy fantasies in his head, Hannibal walked out of the warehouse and kept moving.

Two hours later, to the surprise of exactly no one, he found himself staring up at the front of the Upryri's high rise. He watched the bodies coming and going for a while. To a trained eye seeing the sleek grace and understated arrogance it was obvious exactly what the majority of the building's inhabitants were. It made him tense and reach automatically, only to cringe when his hand came up empty.

Standing outside a nest of uber-vamps and he'd left his sword—

Drake's sword.

He'd left the fucking sword at home.

Except. He didn't really need it, did he?

He hadn't trusted his own instincts since Danica, but he trusted Abby's. And Abby pretty much told him to trust his own.

So, here he was in the middle of an instinct conundrum.

Fuck it. Hannibal pushed through the front door and headed straight for the elevator bank only to stop short with his finger over the call button.

He had no idea where he was going. He doubted Drake would still be hanging out in the top floor temple of ostentatiousness.

With a defeated sigh, the moment of blustering confidence deserted him and he trudged over to the receptionist desk. Ignoring the baleful, suspicious glare of the hovering security guard, Hannibal flashed his patented charming smile and leaned against the smooth marble.

"I need to know what floor Drake is on, please. We have some… unfinished business."

Yeah, that didn't sound creepy out loud _at all_.

The reception gave him a blank, unhelpful smile. "I'm sorry. I'm afraid he's asked not to be disturbed."

Of course he had. Because in the past few days, Hannibal's life had somehow shifted from classic monster horror movie to 80's rom-com. Any minute now there'd be a montage featuring a god-awful pop soundtrack.

"Would you like to leave a message?"

"A message?

What the hell would he say?

 _Hey, didn't hate the bloodsucking as much as I expected. Call me._ Maybe something a little more subtle. _Wow, for an undead guy, you're really hot. Wanna get a milkshake?_

"No. No message."

He pushed away from the desk and tried to decide whether to walk back to the warehouse, or try to find a bar that had two for one shots at eleven in the morning.

"Mr. King, what a lovely surprise." A delicate hand slipped into the crook of his elbow and Cecilia leaned in to brush a kiss across his cheek. "We didn't get a chance to thank you properly for all your help."

She smiled at him with a gracious, country club matron smile and inexorably steered him back toward the elevators.

"I, uh, was just leaving, actually." Hannibal tried to disentangle himself and glanced back longingly at the exit.

She patted his arm softly with one hand and infinitesimally tightened the grip of the other.

"I know. But I don't think that's what you really wanted. You don't strike me as man to be deterred by the first no."

"I am when I'm not sure what the hell yes means," he muttered to himself.

When the door closed, Cecilia pressed her finger to the bio-metric pad then selected a floor two down from the top.

"I know that it's a lot to take in all at once. But you came back here. You must want to try to figure it out."

"I wanted to figure out how my Nintendo worked when I was a kid, too. That just ended up with game in pieces all over my bedroom floor."

She laughed and patted his arm again as the elevator slowed to a stop and the doors slid open.

"Ladies first," he said and gestured gallantly.

"Oh, no. This is where you get out. I'm going to a different floor."

Hannibal closed his eyes and took a deep breath, steadying himself and making the scariest decision of his life. Then he took the fateful step over the threshold. The doors whispered shut with a finality behind him and he knew there was no going back.

Mostly because he was pretty sure his finger wouldn't work on the bio-metric keypad.

The shallow entryway he stood in had only one other, half-open door so Hannibal figure it was where he was meant to go.

On the other side of the door, he stepped into the spacious living room of an apartment straight out of lifestyles of the rich and famous. Expensive leather furniture and one of a kind art were arranged to frame the floor to ceiling windows and the spectacular view of the skyline beyond.

Drake shirtless and still, sat on a small rug facing glass, hands loose on his thighs and head bowed.

He didn't move but a faint rippling of muscle across his back tightened his posture and hint of irritation tightened his voice.

"Scipio, I told you, I'm fine for now. When the time comes to put me down, I'll give you plenty of warning."

The words, and the automatic, instinctive flare of denial they lodged in his chest, took Hannibal by surprise.

"Put you down? I thought the plan was to pull the Sleeping Beauty shtick again?"

Drake snapped to his feet, body half-way across the wide expanse of living before he pulled himself up short.

"Hannibal," Drake murmured, eyes raking over him, drinking him in. Hannibal suppressed a shiver of awareness that tried to push through him. No one had ever looked at him with that kind of open need. It made it hard to remember why he thought he didn't want it.

He forced himself to look away and swallow hard in hopes of hiding his racing heart.

When he looked back, Drake's gaze was shuttered, the longing gone and Hannibal wondered if he'd imagined it.

Drake cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders, easing the tension out of his muscles. "The problem with Sleeping Beauty is that she always wakes up. We saved the remains of the diamond and blood from the ritual. The residual magic should be enough to… end any threat I pose to the world."

Hannibal swallowed hard. Guilt and regret and fear rolled into a tight ball in his throat, making it hard to breathe.

"Because of me?"

Drake frowned fiercely, weight shifting to step closer before he thought better of it. "No. Because our father meddled with forces better left alone. Because I waited too long once before and let the Thirst overwhelm me. Because I've committed too many unforgivable acts."

It was true. All of it. It was exactly what Hannibal had been telling himself for the past four days, every time he'd felt the tug toward Drake in his heart and in is body.

But it wasn't the whole story. It was time he reminded himself as well as Drake.

"Then you saved my life. Saved the world. Let me walk away. You could easily have made me stay, with guilt, if nothing else. You didn't even intend to tell me."

The last came out a little more accusatory than Hannibal intended but Drake just shrugged.

"You didn't want to know."

"No, I didn't," Hannibal conceded, and saw the pain flash in Drake's eyes before he hid it away again. "But I do know, now. And I can't unknow it."

"It doesn't matter. You owe me nothing. And I swear, on my honor, I will never be a threat to you or humanity again. You should try to forget."

Hannibal rolled his and sneered. What the hell did Drake think he'd been trying to do for the past few days?

"Yeah, forgetting might have been easier if you hadn't kissed me. Or drank from me."

Drake winced, his whole body flinching like Hannibal's words had weight.

"I don't regret kissing you. I can't. I knew it was my only chance and took it." Drake sighed and closed his eyes. "I should never have drank from you, though. Not knowing how much you hate it."

"And that's the problem in a nutshell. I didn't. I should have been disgusted and horrified and I wasn't. Which is what really pisses me off."

Hannibal growled and started to pace. It was the first time he'd really admitted it to himself and he had no idea how to deal with. So he just kept talking.

"I should have hated it. I should hate you. I should have hightailed it back home and never thought of you again. Instead, I've spent the past few days overindulging in sugar and wallowing in self-pity. And thinking about you."

Hope flickered in Drake's eyes and this time he actually took the step toward Hannibal before catching himself. Warily, he asked, "What's that mean?"

"What's it mean? It means I'm fucking insane, in so many ways."

Hannibal couldn't stand it anymore. The doubt, the confusion. He was a man of action and there was only one way to know if it was real. If what he'd felt was nothing but adrenaline and fear.

He crossed the distance between them in a heartbeat, hesitated a half second before throwing the last shred of self-preservation to the wind. His hands slid up to cup Drake's neck and he pulled him close, kissing him hard and demanding and not surprised at all when Drake gave back as good as he got.

Hot and intense, the need flared between them like an inferno and left Hannibal panting and clingy when they finally broke apart. He leaned his forehead against Drake's shoulder and tried to catch his breath.

"Damn. Well, now I at least understand the popularity of all those vampire romance novels."

Drake's hands were steady on his back, holding him tight and close, like he was afraid Hannibal would disappear. Which, really, totally valid concern, considering Hannibal still didn't know what the hell he was doing here.

He put his hands on Drake's shoulders and pushed a tiny bit, knowing he wasn't going anywhere unless the vamp let him. Reluctantly, though, the arms unwound from around him and Drake stepped back.

So, considering the inter-species thing, it was probably best to clear up a few questions before he made any life-altering decisions.

"So, uh, no more killing, right? No more plans for world domination?"

"No," Drake smiled softly. "I'm hoping for something a little more simple and quiet, now."

Simple. That sounded good. It's what Hannibal had hoped for, after Daystar. And didn't get because of the Spooks.

"So, ah, if I stick around for a while, I wouldn't have to worry about you giving me a reason to stake you?"

"No. No staking necessary." Drake's smile slipped a little, hope battling doubt in his expression. "Are you planning on staying?"

Hannibal scrubbed his hand over his face and decided to listen to his instincts, after all. He just hoped his instincts had learned a few lessons in the years since Danica.

"Yeah. Yes. I'm staying." He stepped back into Drake, holding on tight. "Don't make me regret it."

"Never." Drake's arms wrapped him up in a comforting, promising embrace, his breath hot and his voice determined.

This time, when Drake claimed his mouth in a kiss, it was slow and languid. Filled with heartfelt warmth and sweet promises. Which reminded him…

Hannibal pulled back a little, to look at Drake with serious determination.

"Don't forget, you still owe me a new Perry the Platypus t-shirt."

Drake threw back his head and laughed, the sound almost as intoxicating as the kissing. Almost, but not quite. Not one to deny himself the best pleasures, Hannibal pressed back in for more of the good stuff.

 

 

 

 


End file.
